


wish you were here

by spookyfoot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura (Voltron) Lives, Character Study, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post Divorce, Post-Season/Series 08, shiro and keith and all my feelings about how season 8 treated their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: It’s Thursday, his once a week call with Keith. Keith likes knowing what day of the week it is.“I’m not kidding, the water on Limsha tastes exactly like chocolate,” Keith says.“Well, I can’t really verify it myself. You’re taking advantage of me” Shiro teases.“I’ll bring some next time I’m on Earth,” Keith says, a little grainy through the poor connection. Shiro can still see the glint in Keith’s eyes. Keith is kind. Keith doesn’t sayyou could be here if you wanted to.“And when will that be?”When are you coming home?“I’ll get to Earth when I get there.”Earth, not home.Three years into a marriage that looks more dead-end than dream, Shiro thinks his mistake was giving up the stars.Four years in, he realizes his mistake was trying to give up Keith.
Relationships: (past tense for the latter), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 207





	wish you were here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sequence_fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/gifts).



> for jess, who read this ages ago and told me nice things.
> 
> as for the fic, "wish you were here" was on repeat. I started this over a year ago and i'm so happy to finally post it!

Three years into a marriage that looks more dead-end than dream, Shiro thinks his mistake was giving up the stars. 

Four years in, he realizes his mistake was trying to give up Keith.

The worst part is that he still sees Keith often. Keith doesn't live on planet anymore. He's completely dedicated his life to running relief efforts through the Blade of Marmora, but he still makes time to talk to Shiro once a week. At least, when the connection is good enough to get through. With the Holts at the helm of the Garrison’s R and D department, it’s getting better by the day. Better isn’t always enough. 

Keith's traveling to the far corners of the universe, seeing galaxies they could have only dreamed of back when they stared at stars on the roof of the Garrison. Back then, Keith had been a warm line of heat at Shiro’s side, excited and sometimes a little guarded about showing how much he wanted to find his place amongst the stars. And he had. Has. Is.

Still, he hasn’t forgotten—part—of where he came from. Whenever he comes back by modified Teleduv, he brings Shiro some sort of trinket.

Shiro keeps them all on one shelf. Until it spills over into two, and then three, and it's then that Shiro realizes he's substituting artifacts for experiences. They’re the galaxy’s menagerie of “wish you were here” postcards except, as time passes, Shiro understands he’s the one doing the wishing. 

It takes him longer to accept that he's not okay with that. 

//

It’s Thursday, his once a week call with Keith. Keith likes knowing what day of the week it is. 

“I’m not kidding, the water on Limsha tastes exactly like chocolate,” Keith says. 

“Well, I can’t really verify it myself. You’re taking advantage of me” Shiro teases.

“I’ll bring some next time I’m on Earth,” Keith says, a little grainy through the poor connection. Shiro can still see the glint in Keith’s eyes. Keith is kind. Keith doesn’t say _you could be here if you wanted to._

“And when will that be?” _When are you coming home_.

“I’ll get to Earth when I get there.”

 _Earth, not home_.

//

Shiro may have spent most of his recent years fighting wars with instant explosions and sudden endings, but his personal life has long been marked by prolonged, subtle disintegration. The slow pull of a tide licking rocks to sand, unnoticed because he was too caught up in the push-pull of it all. 

Focusing on the now sometimes leaves him blind to the past he's leaving behind him. Until that past catches up too hard and too close to the present that the reminders of here become impossible to ignore. 

Shiro's good at dealing with problems and decisions, except when it comes to the emotions he has about himself.   
  
  


//

Another Thursday, another call with Keith. Keith’s hair is damp like he’s just come from the shower, skin still flushed.

Another planet Shiro’s never been to. 

“I wish you were here, this place is crazy––it’s like one giant pillow fort.”

“Curtis and I are getting a divorce.”

Keith looks down. Shiro fiddles with the ring still on his hand. The weight is familiar.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’d rather talk about literally anything else.”

"Then I'm your man."

_Mine._

//

Curtis is gentle and kind and he’s willing to listen and mop sweat from Shiro’s forehead when he has a particularly bad nightmare. Shiro lets him, at first, until he admits to himself that he doesn’t want Curtis to see him like that. Ever. 

It’s even longer before he admits to himself that it’s harder to see his own image in the mirror afterward, pale and drenched in sweat, looking more lost than found.

And wasn’t that the problem to begin with? Weren’t there too many pieces of himself missing, a puzzle of a person that he didn’t know how to put together without the war, without Voltron. 

Without Keith. 

Keith, who took on a staring contest with both of Shiro’s inner demons and his own and made them blink first. 

It wasn’t fair to Keith; wasn’t fair to either of them. That Keith had gone to the ends of the universe for him only to find out that the person he’d tried so hard to save had never really existed at all. 

Or at least that he didn’t exist anymore. There were so many pieces of Shiro that didn’t fit into the same framework that they’d used to; like a sweater worn too many times, beaten into a different shape. 

Shiro had to find out who he was, now. 

So he’d tried out the life for himself that he’d seen once. With a different man, when he’d been a different man, too. 

He’d done the condo, the car, the wedding in matching white suits, seen Keith through video, seen all the galaxy from Earth, living in denial about all.

And everything had been fine. Until it wasn’t. It had taken him too long to admit it. 

And even longer still until he admits to himself that marrying Curtis was a way to deny that version of him existence altogether.

//

Year five is the year they all come back together for more than a brief get together on Altea. Allura herself is back, returned by the lions from a realm she only has the vaguest memories of. 

But the Lions are gone—for good, it seems. The universe is defended; it doesn’t need Voltron anymore. 

_We can live without the Lions_ , Keith had said, gesturing towards the IGF-ATLAS, _but I don’t think any of us want to live in a world without Allura._

And so they’d sacrificed Voltron to save all realities everywhere. It seemed the only fitting thing. 

It’s five years out. Five years without Voltron. Five years of knowing that the war was over, for good this time. 

Five years of Shiro trying to find himself as a phoenix amidst the ashes of rebuilding earth. 

Four years since he’d said yes. 

Three years since he’d last left Earth’s atmosphere. 

Two years since he’d started wondering if he ever would again. 

One year since he’d started wondering if he should have said no. 

//

Thursday. Shiro's favorite day of the week. 

"It's been six months since I've seen you in person," Shiro says.

"I'll see you soon, I promise." 

“You're coming?” Shiro asks, trying not to sound too eager. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the universe.”

//

He misses Keith. Right now it's long-distance transmissions and low light conversations, and an increasing thankfulness they'd sprung for a nice couch when they'd moved into their new quarters at the Garrison. It’s the soft _Keith_ when his frequency shows up on the comms and the apartment is quiet and for an hour or so it’s just the two of them. 

(There’s just something about the way Keith’s name feels like a stone in his throat but a prayer on his lips.)

Shiro had thought this set up would only be for a year, until they could find a place of their own outside of military life, really settle into a new era of peace. 

It turned out that one year became two, became three, became five. 

It turned out that Shiro could only leave so many pieces of himself behind. 

//

  
  


It's a huge celebration. The five year anniversary of the end of the war. Five years of Shiro leaving the battlefront and settling down. But it’s been more like sediment drifting towards the bottom of a river, out of reach of the current. More like watching things pass by him as he stays exactly where he is, belly down along the river bed. 

“Shiro, we could use your help in the Ahn Auditorium, something about alternative fairy lights? To be honest, I’m not sure,” Veronica says, scrolling through a list on her datapad. 

“What about me?” 

Shiro turns the second he hears the first word because he knows that voice like he knows the sound of his heartbeat. 

“Keith,” Shiro says. “When did you––?”

“Just got in, actually." Keith smiles. 

It says too much that Shiro didn’t see how travel-worn Keith is until now. His hair’s a little greasy by his temples and there are purple half-moons bruised into the thin skin below his eyes. 

There’s a heavy pack slung over his shoulder, and his clothes are rumpled, but there's an undeniable brightness to his eyes, enthusiastic if a tiny bit guarded, and he looks at Shiro with something Shiro's always neatly tucked into a box labeled as “fondness”. Because it is, and it isn’t. Because it’s an easy way to stash his feelings somewhere safe, somewhere that won’t hurt either of them. He’s hurt the both of them enough for three lifetimes, and he’s already been granted an extra two. 

But lately, he's wondered if it's something else. Something a little less neat, something a little more liable to bleed at the edges.

Something he’s not sure he should name; something that may be sharp enough, deep enough, to carve out all of the carefully cultivated edges that Shiro’s tried to draw around his new sense of self. 

It was better for both of them to try and find a way to move on, even if Keith didn’t exactly know that’s what Shiro was doing. 

And Shiro. Well. Keith reminded him so much of who he used to be and the parts of him he still didn’t know how to claim as his. But that wasn’t Keith’s fault, it was Shiro’s and so Shiro let him leave because if Shiro had things to figure out, then Keith did too. 

“What do you need me to do?” Keith asks Veronica. He's clearly chosen to sidestep Shiro entirely, a decision Shiro does his best to take in stride, though the grimace on Veronica’s face makes him doubt just how well he's succeeded.

“I need you to go put your things down in your quarters and rest,” Veronica says with no small amount of ire. 

“What do you need me to do aside from that,” Keith says, just as stubborn as ever. 

Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose, “Admiral Shirogane, get him out of here.”

Shiro seizes the opportunity to hook his arm through Keith's and haul him out of there before Keith has a chance to protest. He's not so foolish as to think that he's succeeding because of anything other than Keith's decision to let him.

Keith, for all he's had success with the Blades and made as fantastic a leader of Voltron as Shiro always suspected he would, Keith still doesn't follow orders unless he thinks they're worth following. 

“You heard her, get me out of here Admiral Shirogane.” 

Shiro rolls his eyes even as the tops of his ears flush red. That’s one thing he’s never gotten used to—and he’s not sure he ever will. 

“Okay cadet,” Shiro says. Even though Keith isn’t a cadet—hasn’t been one in years. Technically after retirement, Shiro wasn’t an admiral anymore, either. If Keith’s insisting on calling him Admiral then he figures that the same rules ought to apply in reverse. 

Shiro doesn’t think too hard about the way the hand he presses between Keith’s shoulder blades drifts a little lower, not quite to the small of his back, but not quite to the center, either. They make their way to the rooms Keith usually stays in. Not too far from the ones that Shiro’s been staying in for the past couple of months. 

“How was Xarlax?”

Keith shrugs, though there’s a visible note of pride in the twist of his smile. “It was fine.”

“Where’s that chocolate water,” Shiro pokes at Keith’s pack.

“We’ll get there, we’ll get there. What happened to patience yields focus?”

Shiro leans closer to thumb at the little bit of skin peeling off of the bridge of Keith’s nose. “What happened here?” 

Keith rolls his eyes, lets out a dry little laugh. “Apparently, even with an alien sun you can get sunburned, imagine that.” 

“UV radiation is still UV radiation, Keith.” 

“Yeah but Earth sunscreen didn’t do shit,” Keith says, turning towards the door of his usual suite of rooms.

Shiro watches him go for a few moments before he follows.

//

In the aftermath, and even during, Shiro had grabbed at the changes to leave some pieces of himself behind while he could. It was too easy to seize the chance to be with someone who’d never known him before. Who hadn’t had any basis for comparison aside from a distance. Who wasn’t aware of all the pieces Shiro still felt like he was missing. 

It was a separate sort of peace until it lost the peace and just became separate. 

But it’s that separateness that starts wearing on him, in the end. It’s the distance between living and telling. Only one person had been in the astral plane with him, a flickering flame, guiding him back to consciousness until it’d been snuffed out and gone altogether. 

There’s a difference between telling Keith that he died and telling anyone—everyone—else that he’d disappeared. Euphemism is a shield, and one Shiro let down for Keith because Keith had proven time and time again that when Shiro lowered his shield, Keith would take up its place. 

But it hadn’t quite worked the same when Shiro had to raise his shield against Keith. When he’d cradled the illusion that letting go was all he could do to save himself.

//

“Weird talking to you on a Monday,” Keith says, rifling through his pack. Shiro notices there are some items that never make their way onto the bed. 

“So are you gonna be silent?” 

“If that’s what you want,” Keith says. He raises his head and Shiro can see Keith’s fighting a smile.

“What I want is to talk to you on Thursdays, and Mondays, and all the days ending in y.”

//

The hoverbikes were Shiro’s idea. It’s been a while since he’s been on one, Keith looks him over like he just _knows_. 

Shiro’s still good, but Keith has been putting in hours and hours of practice, weaving through the universe. 

“Race on three?” Keith’s already revving his engine. “Same loop.” 

Then Keith shoots forward leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. 

“That little shit.” Shiro tears off after him. 

Keith wins. But Shiro gives him a real competition,

Keith’s leaning against his own bike, looking out over the canyons. “I missed this.” 

_I missed you._

//

In theory, Shiro remembers a Garrison without Keith. One where he’d shot past all the records in the books, setting his own lightyears beyond them. One where he and Adam had moved into an officer’s apartment just after graduating. It was an apartment that could, politely, be deemed “cozy” but mostly it was a cramped shoebox they could call their own. 

Someone else is living there these days. Shiro and Curtis had moved off of the Garrison grounds when Shiro retired. The sort of work-life distance that military life had never allowed Shiro—and that Shiro had never allowed himself. 

It was better for both of them to try and find a way to move on, even if Keith didn’t exactly know that’s what Shiro was doing. 

And Shiro. Well. Keith reminded him so much of who he used to be and the parts of him he still didn’t know how to claim as his. But that wasn’t Keith’s fault, it was Shiro’s and so Shiro let him leave because if Shiro had things to figure out, then Keith did too. 

//

“Still looks the same," Keith says.

It’s still, quiet aside from the hum of the cicadas, one thing that the Galra invasion had never managed to decimate. Earth’s ecosystem, as fragile as it is, has found a way to bounce back. 

“So, what now?” Keith asked. He doesn’t turn away from the dying light of the sun, eyes out beyond the cliff’s edge to where the sky meets the horizon. They're shoulder to shoulder, Keith a comforting presence at his side.

Shiro exhales, and thought, even as he was captivated by the way the last bit of sunlight edged Keith's profile in gold. He looked—otherworldly. It was fitting, not because of Keith's heritage but because of who he was. Willing to go beyond what was safe and known time and time again for the people he loves. “I’m not sure.” 

“Well...it's good to have you back,” Shiro says.

“It’s good to be back,” Keith says. 

After that, it’s easy to fall into an embrace. Keith is a little taller, a little broader, and a little more sinewy than the last time Shiro saw him. But even as he catalogs all of the changes, it’s comforting how familiar it feels to have Keith’s arms circling around his waist, his head tucked in the crook of Shiro’s shoulder, his dark hair tickling the edges of Shiro’s mouth from where it’s escaped his braid. 

Shiro hasn’t gone anywhere new in the past two minutes, but he finally feels like he’s come home. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
